Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Nature, that washed her hand in milk

I remeberber reading this poem by Sir Walter Raleigh in a high school English reader. Even my imaginitive romantic 16 year old mind found it quite dull as far as love poems go, so I won't reproduce it here.

However, Epsilon came into the bedroom the other day to wake me after breakfast, his shirt soaked in milk from the breakfast he'd just had with his father. The image from the high school reader came flooding back.

Epi, that washed his hands in milk,
And had forgot to dry them,
Took earth instead of snow and silk,
At my request to try them,
If he, a baby could compose
To please my fancy out of those.

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